A Collection of Constants
by OnlyTheInevitable
Summary: Of Mulder's many obsessions, Scully's freckles was one of them. MSR.


**This work is a huge, belated thank you to the wonderful Don'tPanicFace who was so, so, so kind to me at X-Fest! So sorry it's so late, but I hope you enjoy it and I am oh so thankful. I also went a slightly weird way with the prompt, but I hope you'll like it! Prompt: "Mulder once told Scully he liked her freckles as she was covering them with makeup, & she scoffed. He said he loved every single one, & it became a thing that he's cataloguing all the freckles on her body."**

**2016**

"You have some new ones," he stated, the sentence tumbling from his lips without a second thought as he watched her work. His case report on the Man-Lizard (formerly titled Lizard-Man) laid unfinished in front of him as his eyes wandered to their favorite destination.

"Hmm?" she replied from the back of her throat, not bothering to look up.

Her suit jacket had long been discarded to the seat behind her and her bare arms rested gracefully on the desk in front of her. Even from here, even with his bad eyesight, he saw a few new tan freckles littering her arms, kissing the skin gently like he had all those years ago.

"You have new freckles on your arm," he murmured, leaning forward to tap her arm in four different places all while lingering a beat longer than necessary.

Either the touch or its duration caused her to look up at him with a raised eyebrow as she looked back down at her arm. "I don't know," she shrugged, passing it off as a question when they both knew it wasn't.

"No, you do. I'm certain," he teased, pointing to two more on her other arm.

"Mulder," she replied sternly, her voice a gentle warning to knock it off.

It wasn't that she was ignoring their prior relationship, no - but every time he made a referential comment or innuendo, she put her walls back up. In his worst moments, he feared it was her wanting to shut him down before he could get his hopes up for a relationship she had no interest in rekindling. In his best moments, he thought she didn't want to get her hopes up that he was better only to be let down.

But he was better. _Is_ better. And he was going to do everything he could to let her know that.

He'd spent years gaining Scully's trust, her faith in him - in them.

He raised his hands in gentle concession. He'd listen better this time around. He gave her a small smile as he scooted forward towards his desk, picked up a discarded pencil, and started working.

**1995**

It was a beauty mark.

What made a beauty mark different than a mole, he wasn't necessarily sure, but what he did know was that impromptu shower in the high school gymnasium took off her usual cover up and revealed a light brown spot on her upper lip.

He'd suspected probably everything under the sun: a raised bump, freckle, a mole, a patch of dry skin that caught her foundation, he'd even considered it was a beauty mark, but he couldn't guess why she'd cover it up.

They always say that near-death experiences make you grateful for the little things you take for granted, and right now he was irrationally relieved he lived through an attempted sacrifice at the hands of crazy cultists to finally find out what was on her lip.

"Mulder, why do you keep staring at me?" she asked, running her hands over her damp hair for the umpteenth time as if that alone would prevent the curls in her hair from fully forming.

"I like your beauty mark," he replied, lifting his hand and gesturing to her lip, resisting the urge to let his finger graze it.

She touched it in his place with the slight roll of her eyes. "Thanks," she muttered with sarcastic enthusiasm.

"What, don't you like it?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

The flashes of crime scene cameras followed by their gentle whirrs created a strange juxtaposition to their mundane conversation, but Scully didn't seem to be put off by his line of questioning and he figured she was grateful for the respite from the events of the night. "I just always have," she shrugged, pursing her lips.

"Marilyn Monroe had one," he offered.

"On her cheek," Scully corrected.

"Cindy Crawford has one on her upper lip. I think Madonna has one right where you do."

Scully looked at him with a cocked eyebrow and he realized his attempt to make her feel better may not have been working as he'd hoped. "You sure seem to know a lot about beauty marks," she deadpanned.

He shrugged self consciously and emitted a half-hearted chuckle. "I think they're called beauty marks for a reason."

She smirked for half a second before suppressing it. "I've always been told it looks too big for my face," she admitted honestly.

"They were wrong."

**1997**

It wasn't like he'd never seen them before. The makeup she used might've boasted '24 Hour, long lasting, Smudge-proof wearability', but a day in the life of Scully and a day in the life of the average Covergirl consumer were vastly different. Sometimes he'd catch her in her motel room after she'd washed her face and it was adorned with more freckles than normal. Sometimes he'd wait to say goodnight to her just in the hopes of catching a glimpse of them.

Now, he could see them all on display as she lay bare-faced and sleeping in the hospital bed. He couldn't see himself, but he knew his face was blotchy and red, as if he'd absorbed all the color the cancer had taken from her.

His knees ached from kneeling on the hospital floor next to her, but this was a vigil he couldn't find the heart to move from. She still hadn't woken up, despite his sobbing right next to her for the better part of an hour. Probably a result of the heavy meds they were using to keep her free from pain, to make this all easier for her.

He felt a fresh wave of tears sting his eyes, and he looked upwards towards the ceiling to blink them away. He felt like he was trying to swallow a rock, but he didn't want to wake her on accident. He'd rather be careful than acknowledge it'd take a lot to wake her up now.

He sniffed as quietly as he could and looked back down at Scully. Her small frame was lit up by the moonlight streaming in through the blinds. Her dainty hand was still in his, next to the slowly evaporating, large wet spot where his face had just lain.

The occasional flickering behind her eyelids and the gentle rise and fall of her ribs were his only indication she was alive. _She is alive. _His throat tightened back up as the world blurred.

Figuring it was a fruitless effort, he let the tears fall down his cheeks as he stared at the ghostly white version of the face he'd been looking at for four years. He let out a small breath through barely opened lips as his eyes caught sight of her uncovered beauty mark, now darker against her alabaster skin.

There was another, much smaller, dot on her cheek - a dark freckle normally covered up by makeup, she had another prominent one on her forehead near her hairline, but without a doubt, she had the most on the bridge of her nose. Some of those were so close they almost became an indistinguishable clump of amber.

Eighty eight, that he could count, of course. And that was just on her face. Some of them were chocolate brown, others were a faint tan color, imperceivably different than her skin. He was certain that he'd seen more during their summer cases when she valued sunscreen over moisturizer and the sun had darkened them.

His face was still hot, there was still the uncomfortable pressure at the front of his face, but the tear tracks had finally dried. The rhythmic counting of her freckles had acted like a gentle metronome to center him. He had no idea what to do, but he had a mental map of all the small details of her face, and just that soothed him ever so slightly. Even in her sleep, she could still comfort him.

Letting go of her hand as gently as he could, he stood upright on sore legs and roughly wiped his face with the palms of his hands.

He had work to do. He had to fix this.

**1999**

He was bolder. They both were. This _thing_ between them didn't have a name, but it had a feeling. A feeling of melancholy when Friday rolled around and they hadn't made plans yet, the prospect of a weekend without the other sounding suspiciously miserable for two coworkers. A feeling of butterflies when "Hey it's me" was followed by "Do you want to come over?" A feeling of intense longing when body heat was shared from sitting too close on a couch. A feeling that it still wasn't close enough.

While she was a bit bolder in physical touch, he was a bit more blunt with his words.

"Why do you cover up your freckles?" he asked one morning when she was doing her makeup in a motel mirror. That was new too. He'd get up early just for the chance to sit on her bed and watch as she did her morning routine, usually under the guise of bringing her coffee and then overstaying his welcome.

She turned to look at him, face still bare minus the sheen of makeup being applied to her skin. "I like them," he followed up, seeing a few of them peeking out in areas she hadn't covered yet.

She scoffed goodnaturedly before returning to the mirror, rubbing circles against the skin of her face. "Did you know people are less likely to take women with freckles seriously than those without?" she asked.

His brow furrowed as he tried to recollect the women in his life who had freckles. She took his silence as a 'no' and continued, "It makes women look young. Men don't take young women seriously. I work in two male dominated fields, and with my freckles I look like a co-ed. Consequently, I cover them up."

"That's a shame," he murmured honestly. She looked back over at him as she picked up a brown tube of eyeliner, shrugging her shoulders as if it was just something she'd come to accept. "I love every single one of them," he smiled at her.

She looked down as the corners of her mouth quirked up. Even through the layer of makeup, he could still see her turning pink.

"Thanks, Mulder."

He knew the _thing _between them wasn't really nameless. It started with L, ended with E, and had a lot of fear in between. But he'd conquered much scarier things with Scully by his side before.

**2000**

Two on her left shoulder blade.

One on mid-back.

Two on her lower-back.

Three on her breasts.

One on her abdomen.

One on her outer labia lip.

He got a little distracted after that, but just like the sentiment Scully had been screaming, he knew there were more.

His hands were on her warm back as she raised up and down in time with his breathing, her own even breaths coming out hot on the skin of his neck. "The freckles on your back look like Cassiopeia," he murmured, running his hand up and down her spine.

"We tried a new position and you were staring at my freckles?" she teased, his theory she was falling asleep evident in her tone.

"I was staring at a lot of things, Scully," he cooed in reassurance. As he said this he let his hand slide further down her spine so he could cup her left cheek. His spent member stirring ever so slightly inside of her.

She laughed lightly and he could feel her roll her eyes. "You're insatiable," she murmured.

"I think I could say the same about you," he laughed, looking at the discarded shirt on her vanity that was now missing several buttons. He felt her nuzzle impossibly closer to him, her breast plastered to his bare chest, and it made a smile spread across his face. _This was real._ The warmth of her skin and the smell of sex still lingering in the air was proof enough.

He raised his hand back up the slope of her spine as he moved to press his index finger into the top freckle on her shoulder-blade, tracing a delicate line to the next until he'd created a connect-the-dot pattern on her back from memory.

"Was tha' Cassio-peia?" she mumbled, barely clinging onto consciousness.

He gently grabbed the quilt tangled at his side and spread it out on top of them the best he could without jostling her, earning a contented hum.

Crunching his neck upwards, he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and whispered, "Yes. Cassiopeia, the Queen."

There was no response as her breathing evened out completely. Enjoying the weight of her on his chest, he smiled sweetly to himself. He'd spent years trying to find answers in the stars and now he had a constellation lying in his arms.

**2001**

"I have to be honest, I was really expecting a head of bright red hair," he whispered, not wanting to wake the newborn on his chest.

Scully was reclined next to him, propping herself up on an elbow to look at her boys. "He looks like his dad," she murmured with a smile, a playful twinkle in her eyes.

"Is that why he doesn't have any freckles?" he asked, stroking the few brown hairs on the baby's head into a mohawk.

Scully laughed softly at his attempt and answered, "No, he doesn't have freckles because freckles don't develop until the ages two to four."

"I bet his first one will be right here," he whispered, faintly pointing to the upper bridge of his William's little nose.

Scully rolled her eyes, but played along nonetheless. "I'll place my bets here," she replied, pointing to William's cheek, indulging just a little to stroke the soft skin.

"Oh really?" Mulder challenged playfully.

She nodded before leaning closer to him. "Like I said, he looks like his dad," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his own light beauty mark laid against his stubble.

His cheek pressed against her lips as he smiled, and he turned to catch her lips instead. _This was what serenity felt like. _

"I don't know, Scully. The piercing blue eyes, the fact he willingly wants to be near me. Those traits alone make him unquestionably Scully," he explained.

She closed her eyes and let out a little exhale laugh through her nose before scooting even closer to him, laying flush to his side as they both stared at the little sleeping baby. "Just wait, he's going to be towering over me spouting off conspiracy theories in no time," she replied wistfully.

**2002**

"Do you know what that is, Gibson?" Mulder asked, pointing up towards the night sky. He'd been upset with himself all day and he finally convinced himself to go outside for some fresh air.

_Dearest Dana._

He'd most likely put his family in danger because he couldn't contain how much he missed them. Gibson let him go through his miscellaneous magazines and he'd come across an old "Best of the 80s" edition of _Rolling Stone._ He went from blissfully distracted with a Bob Dylan feature to feeling the wind knocked out of him with a picture of Madonna from her "Like a Virgin" days.

A beauty mark on the upper lip.

_She was everywhere._

"It's Cassiopeia," Gibson replied immediately.

Mulder glanced over at the kid who was drawing in the sand with a stick, focused on his task. "Did you actually know that or did you hear me?"

"You've thought about it a lot. This is the first time I've seen it in the sky though," he replied pointedly.

Mulder cringed in embarrassment that wouldn't ease no matter how many times it happened. "Sorry."

A silence fell between them as Mulder looked back up, his eyes going to every individual star that comprised the constellation. "You're doing it again," Gibson muttered.

He let out a long sigh and looked at Gibson. Most middle school boy's experience with the female form came from Playboy or Penthouse, but Gibson now unfortunately had his classmates beat, all thanks to Mulder. "Would you mind…" he trailed off, looking back to the opening of their hideout.

"Sure," he agreed, letting the stick fall soundlessly to the ground as he turned to walk away. Mulder heard the sounds of him walking, but stopping short of the door. "It was just an email. I doubt we can be found just through that alone. Besides, I bet it meant a whole lot to her."

He'd long learned it was useless to placate the boy by trying to agree when his heart wasn't in it. He respected him more than that. All he could offer was a small smile and a thanks, which Gibson reciprocated in kind.

Turning back to the sky, he was reminded of his own queen. _Was she safe? Was William safe? Was this as hard for her as it was for him?_

He knew it was. He just hoped this was all worth it in the end.

**2003**

"This one is my favorite," he murmured, kissing the crook where her neck met her shoulder.

She let out a breathy, shaky laugh as she trembled in his arms. He'd spent the better part of an hour trying to find every single freckle and mark on her body. He hadn't taken the time to do this inventory before, and it pained him immensely while they were apart. He wouldn't take it for granted again. He wanted to know every intimate, minute detail of Scully's body.

She was giggling when he started the journey with his fingers, but the giggling died down when he started using his mouth. Now she had the motel bedsheets in a white knuckle grip as she lay naked with him hovering above her. "Oh really?" she panted, not succeeding in feigning interest in discussion that didn't pertain to her impending orgasm.

"And I like this one," he murmured, suckling the one on the underside of her left breast.

She gently arched upwards, making the skin of their lower abdomens rub against each other. He gasped with a laugh and moved down. "And I like this one," he repeated, licking the two freckles on her prominent hip bone lightly.

"More," she whispered breathlessly.

"This one," the words tumbled from his mouth as he scooted backwards so he could kiss her inner thigh with ease.

She took her turn moving on the bed and readjusted herself so that it was her dripping arousal in his face instead of her thigh. _Point taken._

"Especially this one," he growled, using his thumb to press onto the labia freckle while his mouth went straight to her clit.

She seemed to like that one too.

**2018**

He could look now.

When he'd mentioned a few new markings on her arms after the Guy Mann case, he'd been shut down. Now, he felt empowered. The same serotonin rush he would get all those years ago when she'd coyly accept his invitation to his apartment was back in full swing.

She was still nervous, he could tell that from the way she seemed to get quiet after indulging in an overly intimate comment. As if she was reflecting on if she should or shouldn't have said it. But it was different than it was when they first started working on X-Files again. The trepidation had been replaced with something that looked like hope. It was an expression he was all too familiar with as he saw it every time he looked in the mirror.

He'd never press her too much - the best things in life come to those who wait, and he'd wait an eternity if that meant he could spend his life with her. She'd made the first move then, and he'd correctly suspected she'd make the first move again.

Last night the fantasy he'd been playing in his head for the past four years fantasizing about finally became real. The fact it was technically fraternizing on the job was just an added bonus. It hadn't been exactly how he'd dreamed; he didn't get to say all the sentiments on his mind, the lights were off, and he had to leave in fear in the middle of the night instead of waking up with her in his arms. But she had given him hope.

_Come back to bed._

And less than 24 hours later, they were back in bed. Though sleeping was the last thing on either of their minds.

He'd always loved unwrapping presents. Ribbons, bright colored paper, the buttons of silk blouses - whatever it may be, as long as it came from Scully, always brought a smile to his face.

"What?" she asked with a breathy smile.

"I wasn't able to see all the new freckles you had last night, it was too dark," he stated with a grin.

She rolled her eyes and laughed at the enthusiasm in his voice. "Are you going to do that thing with your mouth again, because I think I have too many for that now," she laughed.

"Is that a challenge?" he murmured before sucking on the bend of her neck.

She was silent for a moment, shifting under him in an effort to rub against his appreciation for her. After a beat, she answered in a playful and lust filled tone, "Yes. It is."


End file.
